My Life: Maureen's Side of the Story
by Artemidora
Summary: PostRent, Maureen's account of everything that's happened to her in her life. Follows her life before, during, and after RENT. Please r&r! --Discontinued--
1. The Beginning

A/N: Maureen, just like all the other RENT characters, is not mine. I wish, but no.

It all started when I was five.

That's when my mom died.

She was so young, only in her late 20's. I remember vaguely, my mother and father laughing and dancing. She loved me, and I loved her. My father was the best man 'd ever want for my dad.

Then everything changed. My mom and dad were out, at a club. They'd left me at home with a babysitter, because my older brother was playing in his band at the club. And, of course, I wasn't allowed, being only five.

I don't actually know what happened, I am relying on police and medical records. Supposedly, my mom had been drinking a lot, but my father had been drinking more. But he was the only one with a driver's license, so into the car they got, my mom, dad, and brother, Louis. My dad at the wheel. You have to understand something about my dad. When he drinks, he gets crazy. Absolutely insane. So he started yelling at my mom, not paying attention to the road. He went into the other lane with oncoming traffic. The cars couldn't see them against the reddish-black NYC night sky so laden with pollutants. A taxi crashed right into the side of the car that was away from my dad. My mom and brother were instantly killed. My dad went to the hospital, but survived with only minor injuries.

After that, my dad started drinking a lot more. To ease the pain, I guess. He became really crazy and violent and was constantly hung over, yelling at me like there was no tomorrow.

I was seven when he started hitting me. One day, out of the blue, he came up to me and just started beating the crap out of me. I remember crying, begging him to stop. It hurt so bad, I felt like I wanted to die. Then, it started every day. When he got home from work. I used to hide in the closet to try to avid beatings. But he usually found me. If he didn't, the blows were twice as hard the next day. The red sores and bruises became stuck on my upper arms, legs, and back. I was covered in them every day. But, eventually, I got used to it.

I was almost ten when he started hitting on me. I was still young, so I thought this must be normal. Some kind of rite of passage into becoming a woman. Actually, it was rape.

He would get this glint in his eye and I knew there was trouble. He'd invite me to his room, pour me some wine, and I got scared. He'd undress me, and undress himself and put me under the covers and rape me. Every night. I guess that was grief. He really really missed my mom, and had never had another relationship again. So I guess he thought, since I had her blood, that I was the closest thing to her that he could get.

I became pregnant with his child at fifteen.

I realized it when my period was late. So I went to the drug store and bought a pregnancy test. The results were positive.

I knew that I couldn't tell him, because he'd accuse me of "sleeping around", being a whore. So, I got an abortion. I figured, the child would have been retarded anyway and I would be his or her mother and sister. That thought grossed me out. So I did the only thing I could do.

About two weeks after the abortion, I ran away from home.

I remember the night like it was yesterday. I packed as many bags as I could carry and all my money. I'd started saving at eleven. I packed clothes, books, food, and money, money, money. I had over a thousand dollars. But I knew I'd need a job. This wouldn't last very long. I packed my bags and left the house at 3 pm, two and a half hours before he got home, never to return. I'd stolen food from the kitchen, and was off. The last time my dad saw me was the night before, in his bed.

I got on the subway and decided to go to the East Village. I don't know why, but I did. Perhaps I always knew I wanted to be an actress. So I went there.

When I got out of the train, it looked very, very different from the way I'd imagined it. It was dirty and dingy and not very pleasant. I saw prostitutes turning their tricks in the alleys and triple-X clubs everywhere. Not to mention drag queens, drug users and dealers, and homeless people on the streets. I'd never been exposed to this side of New York. But, at the tender age of fifteen, here I was.

I met this guy Tom at a party and mentioned that I needed a place to stay. Needless to say, I flirted up a storm. (I've always been a flirt. I just can't stick to one person.)

My flirting worked, and he told me that he owned this place and let me have an apartment. For free! He told me that I could start paying once I had a job. I was so lucky!

So now I had my own apartment, I had money (for now) and I didn't need to worry about rent, at least for another six months or so. And, best of all, I was free! I could do whatever I wanted during the day (which was go to school – I wanted t at least finish high school) and then I could go out at night. This place was alive like you wouldn't believe at night! There was all kinds of dancing and partying. My world rocked. I studied drama and voice. I was on top of the world. And I made friends with the richest, nicest girl and she would give me money for food and stuff. She was so generous. So I really didn't even need a job. But, to make Tom happy, I had to pretend like I was looking for one.

At night, to get into the clubs, I simply lied about my age. I even made a fake I.D. It worked. I got in everywhere. I was so free and I did what I pleased.

Until Tom came banging on my door again.

He said that it was ridiculous that I hadn't found a job yet. He demanded that I pay rent.

So I had to quit partying and get a job. But my party spirit never left me, even now.

I got a job as a waitress in a place called the Moondance Diner. Not a bad place. I liked it there, it paid me. I had support. I went to school in the day and worked from 4 to 12. Then I got up to go to school again at 6. I wasn't sleep deprived. I was working. And doing a damn good job of it. The customers loved me. Especially the young guys. I flirted non-stop with them and the cute waiters too. But no one minded. After all, I was beautiful. I was young. So I was allowed.

Life was good again. Working was almost like partying, but no booze. I still got to flirt. And I got paid. No loud music, but I served people. And I could pay rent. I was content.

Then, when I was eighteen, I finished high school. I decided that college was what I needed, so I applied to (and got into) NYU. The Computer-Age Philosophy teacher was a nut. He was great though, and obviously a genius. So I flirted. He never really flirted back, though. It took me a while to figure out why. But then it hit me – he was gay.

But he was really nice. Somehow, he and I became friends, so to say. Not that good friends, but still friends. Through him, when I was 20, I met Mark. The one who changed my life.

Mark is a photographer. He was sweet, charming, and cute. What I always wanted. He was a "nice Jewish boy" like my mom had wanted. I have always been afraid of commitment, though, so I never thought of him as my boyfriend until I moved in with him, about a year after we started dating. He was exactly what I wanted. I loved the way his blond hair fell, or his cute little glasses, or the way he looked at me. I loved his small, tight body, kind of scrawny, but oh-so-adorable. I loved the way he always carried around his camera like a security blanket. I loved the cute little things he said, or the way he made love to me. I loved the way he thought I was beautiful, the way he thought I was everything. I loved him.

What I loved most about him, though, became much more apparent as time went on. I loved the freedom he gave me. I loved that I could be safe, and always have someone ready to kiss me when I got home. But still, I loved how gullible he was. He never knew that I cheated on him until it was way too late. He never knew about John or Rick or even Benny. Even though he and Benny were room mates at Brown, and for a while they lived in the same apartment. He was too oblivious, always filming, but never seeing. Never quite there. Except during sex. Then he was 100% there, giving me his full attention.

But I did love him. I loved everything about him. I never wanted to hurt him. But old habits are not easily broken, so I ended up hurting him anyway. I tried. I really did. I went for weeks without cheating, but then I couldn't stand it. I had to go to a club and hook up for just one night. I loved the excitement, the passion. But I could always come home to my forgiving Mark. My sweet, oblivious Mark. My Mark.

We'd been together for almost two years when, as an anniversary present to him, I decided that I would never cheat on him again. I promised myself, I promised him. Silently.

Why? Because I loved him. I loved him with all my heart. I didn't want to hurt him. I loved him, and wanted to keep him. Forever. I was just a flirt, a user, and a cheat. But that was not my fault. Ever since my father had started raping me, I had feared commitment. I could never stay in a relationship for long. But this time was different. I loved Mark, and wanted to make him happy. I would never dream of hurting him, because I knew he'd never hurt me. He was too sweet. But as hard as I tried, I hurt him anyway.

But all that was changing. I promised never to cheat again. And I stuck to it. For almost a year. By then I was 23. Then I met Joanne.

A/N: Ooh, suspense! Don't worry, next chapter coming up in about 2 days. Did you like? Please R/R!!!! Lots more coming up, including relationship struggles, her version of RENT, and more. Plus how's she gonna tell Mark about Joanne...? Oooh, wait and see! Please review, it makes me work faster!!!!


	2. Enter Joanne

A/N: Maureen, just like all the other RENT characters, is not mine. I wish, but no.

Enjoy.

I promised never to cheat again. And I stuck to it. For almost a year. By then I was 23. Then I met Joanne.

This was an accident. I never really flirted. Until I was in too deep. I had never guessed that I was bisexual. But I am. That's one of the biggest mistakes made about me. I am NOT lesbian. I am bisexual. I so not like only women, I like men and women. How could I love Mark like I did if I only loved women? People would say that I never really loved him. That's a lie. I always loved him, true and deep. In fact, I still love him. But that doesn't change anything.

I met her by accident. I was on the subway, riding to work. I saw a young black woman across the car. I looked at her, and she looked right back. Then she smiled.  
When we got off, she came over to me. I noticed that her hands were full and she was almost tripping over herself. She started to speak in this powerful, assertive voice. She was clearly a strong, determined woman. I admired her for that. I still do.

"Hello, my name's Joanne. I noticed you in the subway," she said, getting right to the point.

"Hi, Joanne, my name's Maureen. I noticed you too," I said with a slight giggle. "I live in the East Village, but I'm heading to work. What about you?"

"I am also heading to work, I live in the East Village as well. I'm a lawyer, what do you do?"

Now I was starting to feel a little bit intimidated by her, which never happened around men. I was always the dominating, powerful one,and everyone else was the shy, uncomfortable, meek, intimidated one. Not today. The tables had turned.

"Oh, right now I'm just a waitress, at the Moondance Diner. But I am studying to be an actress and a singer."

"Oh, really? I've always wanted to go into directing. Maybe we could team up sometime."

"Hmm... maybe. Sure. Where did you go t school?"

"I went to Harvard Law. And you?"

"Columbia."

"That's great! Well, I've got to get to work," she reminded me.

"Oh, yeah, me too. But talk to you soon, okay?" I hastily added.

"Yes, sure, here's my contact information. If you need it."

"Bye."

"Bye."

After she was gone in the other direction, I sighed and looked down at the business card she had given me. It said, "Joanne Jefferson." I knew from that she came from a wealthy family. Then it had her office name on it, and three phone numbers where she could be reached: work, home, and cell. The card also listed a company e-mail address.

While I was reading that I got a very strange feeling inside. I had no idea what it was, but I knew that I'd never felt anything like it before. It was at that moment that I knew that Joanne was a very special person.

The next day, when I got home from work, I decided to give Joanne a ring. Mark was out filming and Roger was God knows where, out shooting up with April (his girlfriend) probably. Collins was still at work, and Benny had just moved out to live with his new girlfriend Mimi, who I never met. From the empty loft I dialed Joanne's cell. She picked it up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, Maureen, remember me?"

"Yes, indeed I do. I was just thinking about you."

"Really? Well, I just decided to give you a call, to see how you're doing and all."

"I'm all right, work is stressful, but I'll live. And you?"

"I'm pretty good. I have nothing to do, want to go have a coffee or something? It's on me," I offered.

"Sure, I also have nothing to."

"OK, want me to meet you at your place?" I asked. "I can pick you up, I have a license and my room mates and I share a car."

"OK, great." She told me her address. I wrote it down, and scribbled a note to Mark, Collins, and Roger, in case they got back before I did. It just said I was out having a coffee and a get-together with a friend from high school. I figured otherwise, they would be suspicious.

I hopped in the car and drove to the address Joanne had given me. When I got there, she was outside waiting. She got into the passenger seat on the other side.

Once we got there, I ordered a "medium double, hazelnut, non-fat, no-whip mocha". Joanne had a small cappuccino. I paid for both of our drinks and we sat down. First, I told her about Roger, Collins, and Mark. I told her all abut them, what they did, how they were, everything. I neglected to tell her that Mark was my boyfriend. That was just an old habit, back from my cheating days. They couldn't know I already had a boyfriend. I just sort of made it sound like they were all just friends. And most of them were.

Joanne told me about her parents and how they always expected her to be perfect. She told me about her little sister, who was going to be an engineer. And about her life in college, where she had seemingly no friends.

She asked me about my parents, and to avoid a whole big discussion, I just told her they both died in a car crash. Not exactly true, but close enough. Since my mom was dead and I hadn't seen my dad for eight years and never hoped to ever again. It made things a lot simpler.

Soon after, we finished our drinks and left the café. I drove her home. When we got there, she stepped gingerly out of the car and invited me inside.

"Um, sure, I guess, why not?" I answered. "Will I get a ticket?"

"If you park like that, yes. Look, park right over there and nothing will happen," she reassured me, pointing to a spot across the street. After I parked, I walked back over to Joanne. She began to walk up the stairs. I followed.

"Now, I don't have any room mates, so my apartment is pretty small," she told me. "But it's enough for me to live in." She opened the door.

She was right. The place was really tiny. It consisted of a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room/kitchen area sort of combined. But she seemed to fit in it just fine. I liked this place right off he bat. It had a cuddly, homey feel to it. It was cosy.

"You're right, it is small. But I like it," I commented. She did not reply. Eventually we setted don on the couch to watch a T.V. show. I don't remember what it was, but it made Joanne laugh. That's what I paid more attention to. Joanne. I think I honestly watched her the whole time. She was just so... at ease, so relaxed. I liked her this way. I was starting to really like her.

A/N: Sorry, this one's really short. But the next one will be out by tomorrow. Maybe even chapter 4. (Told you I work fast). So please review, I will be happy. A happy me is a good thing.


	3. More Action

A/N: Still not mine. I still wish, but still no.

A short, romantic chapter. Warning: Contain lesbian (woman/woman) action.

Happy reading!

I was starting to really like Joanne. She was really nice and a great listener, but she could talk, too. She was strong and determined, two things I never was. And committed. To what she had to do. Very committed. I admired her, I wanted to be just like her. I know I sound like a little kid when I say that, but I mean it.

But then, my "liking" of her went deeper than that. Her skin suited her perfectly. It was dark, rich, and creamy at the same time. It blended perfectly into her pink-brown lips, full and soft-looking. I loved her deep, chocolate-coloured eyes. I loved the way she moved, swift and knowing. She knew what she wanted,and how to get it. She wasn't reckless, however, that much was obvious. She was intelligent, too, I could tell that. She knew what was going on around her, and she also knew everything else, it seemed. At least in the beginning. She was wise and well-rounded.

She had a way about her that made her definitely likeable, but also put you on your toes. Ready for anything. I definitely liked her, a lot. I thought, still watching her, that this could be a beautiful friendship.

Or, perhaps, it was meant to be... more?

I was confused by that. But I didn't know what to do, so I pretended everything was fine. When the T.V. program was over, I was still watching her. She turned slowly to me, as if she'd known I was watching her all along.

"Two questions," she told me.

"Shoot," I told her. "Go ahead."

"Okay. One, were you watching the show at all?"

"Honestly? No," I told her, blunt and truthfully.

"Neither was I," she surprised me by saying. We shared a smile and a giggle. We both knew what the other had been doing the whole time. But I found out that Joanne had been much more discreet about it.

"You had another question..."I ventured.

"Oh, yes, just a wondering question... have you ever wondered about your... your sexuality?" she asked hesitantly.

"Um... not really, not in the past. I always just assumed that I was straight. But yeah, now I'm starting to question it. Why? What about you?" I asked.

"Well, I know for a fact that I'm..." She seemed to have trouble getting the word out. "Lesbian," she finished.

"Okay. That's fine. Do you have a girlfriend?" I asked her.

"No, not at the moment. But I have, in the past," she said, looking surprised that I'd accepted it that easily. She looked very relieved, as if she hadn't been sure how I was going to take the news.

"Well, that's good. I guess," I said, not sure if that was good or not.

"I guess." We were silent after that, for a while. Then I found a question to ask. Since we'd talked about her parents earlier, I thought to ask:

"How did your parents take it when you told them?"

"Not well, they're very homophobic. They come from an old-money family, as I told you, so they're conservative and kind of stuck in the past. So they sent me away. Off to school. They're not leaving me any money in their wills either. But that's okay. I can survive, being a lawyer," she finished.

"Sheesh... that's kind of harsh. I wasn't left any money either... but that's because I was five at the time," I told her. "So I don't really know how you feel... sorry about that."

"It's fine. Anyways, that's not my main concern. I am just often discriminated against and I get a lot of bad vibes. Things like that hurt more than not getting any inheritance."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. The topic was never discussed for me, so I don't know," I said. Somehow, over the course of that conversation, we had moved closer. At this point, I rested my head against he shoulder. As a natural reaction, she stroked my head. And I didn't mind.

"I really like you, Joanne..."

"I really like you too..." We looked at each other. By this time, we were very close. Too close...

I reached my head up, just a little bit. She leaned down, just a little bit. Our lips touched, and we shared our first kiss. Then, I moved around so that we were more comfortable. Our lips met again, and this time, the kiss deepened. I felt passion in every microsecond. At this point, I knew what to do. We pressed up against each other, and I put my arms around her. At the same time, we got up and moved to her bedroom, Joanne using her foot to knock the door shut behind her.

We stumbled onto her bed. I unbuttoned her shirt while she slipped my top off. She then proceeded to struggle with my leather pants. I helped her... that's a problem with leather pants. They are really nice, they look hot, damn, they ARE hot. But they are so hard to get out of.

We finally, together got the pants off. Joanne slipped off her own pants and we climed into her bed. Joanne played with my lacy black bra, while I admired her mouth. She has a tongue that works in very precise way.

Anyway..one thing led to another, and I'm pretty sure you can guess where they ended up.We reached our climaxes... it took me longer than with man/woman sex, but still, it happened. It was wonderful. I still had my bra on, while Joanne never wore one. So she didn't have one to take off.

"Turn around for a sec, Maureen. I've been itching to take off your bra." I obliged, and she quickly unsnapped it. My breasts were revealed at long last. Then, after that, we... did it, again. This time was better than the first. Much better.

Finally, an hour and a half later, we were both finished. It probably could've gone on longer, but we felt "done" for the time being. I looked over at her, satisfied. She looked back with a content expression on her face. She looked really good there, all tangled up in the off-white sheets. Looking at me with that look that's on your face right after really really great sex. I figured that I must look similar. Only my skin doesn't so perfectly cooordinate with the sheets, but still. I knew I was beautiful. I guess I still am, with my dark strawberry-blonde, curly hair and blue eyes. Pale creamy skin with a splash of freckles across my nose. Long curled lashes, with full pink-red lips. Plus I look totally hot on my black leather pants. But still not as hot as Joanne was looking to me at that moment.

It was at that moment that I remembered something. I sat bolt upright and said, totally evenly, but in no way calmly, to Joanne, "Oh, my god. What is Mark going to say? What am I going to tell Mark?!?"


	4. A Scary Thought

A/N: Still hoping to be contacted by someone telling me I now own RENT.

Still not happening.

A short, angsty chapter.

Drama brought to you by the world's favourite drama queen: Maureen.

Here I was, freaking out, still in Joanne's bed. I was pulling on my leather pants, about to go back to the loft, when I realized something. It was way too late, time-wise. It was way past the time I should've been back if I was only having coffee. So, my brilliant brain thought of a great excuse. It would also buy me more time with Joanne.

"Hey, Jo, can I use your phone?" I asked her.

"Umm... in a sec. Maureen, who's Mark?" she asked me. Then, I realized that I'd never told her I had a boyfriend.

"Okay, Jo, don't be mad, I just forgot to tell you, it was an honest mistake. Mark is... my boyfriend," I told her. She looked kind of stunned, which I guess makes sense, since I'd just had sex with a woman, and now I was telling her about my boyfriend.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a boyfriend. More importantly, I didn't know you cheated," she said coldly. "Well, I guess you better use the phone, cover it up. Go make up an excuse. Please, I don't want him to find out about me," she told me. So I went and called Mark from her phone.

"Hey, can I talk to Marky?" I asked when Roger picked up. He passed the phone to Mark.

"Maureen! Where are you? I thought you said you were just having coffee."

"I was, Marky... but then we went home to her house. She and I were just watching sappy romantic comedies on the couch. It's just that we haven't seen each other in years... and I just forgot the time. I'm so sorry, Marky, never meant for it to happen. I promise."

"I see... what was this friend's name again?"

"Joanne," I responded automatically.

"I see... is she there? May I please speak to her?" he asked, suspiciously.

"You don't believe me?" I pleaded.

"I just want to make sure," he told me, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Okay, let me go get her." I went to Joanne's room. "Hey, Jo, can you talk to Mark? He doesn't believe me, so could you just tell him that we're just hanging out at your house... watching romantic comedies?"

"You want me to lie and cover for you?"

"Yes, just this once, I swear it'll never happen again. Just once, for me, babe?"

"Fine, for you. Stay here." And with that she got up and went to the phone. This is what I heard from her end of the conversation.

"Hello? Yes, I am. Joanne Jefferson. I met Maureen in... high school. We just met up again on the subway when we were going to work... I asked her to join me for coffee. And then we came back here. I guess she forgot... sorry. Yeah. America's Sweethearts and American Pie 1 and 2. Okay... yes, I'm just getting over a nasty breakup. And they help... yeah. Sorry, want her to go home? Okay then. Should she stay here with me then? We can have dinner here. Yes, there's room. Don't worry... she'll go back in the morning? She has the car. All right, nice talking to you, Mark. Goodbye." Then she hung up and came back into the bedroom.

"You're safe for today. Roger has a gig tonight, so you're staying with me. You'll go back tomorrow morning. But don't expect me to do that ever again."

"Yes! Thank you Joanne!! I love you! You're my hero!" I yelled, jumping up and down. Then I kissed her. We settled back onto the bed.

We stayed up most of the night making passionate love, as both of us knew we would do the second Joanne got off the phone. By this time I was definitely feeling a guilty vibe. I felt really bad doing this to my Marky. I promised myself that I'd never do it again, never see Joanne again. Because I loved Mark, right? I was in love with him.

This thing with Joanne must be a fling, a one-night stand. Mark was forever. Or so I thought.

But Joanne was really growing on me. I justified the actions of that night by saying that a) Mark had totally allowed me to do this, b) it was only for one night, no more, and c) I would never see Joanne again. I wouldn't let myself. So I let myself have fun, love it while it lasted. Live in the moment, that's what I always say.

After I had that conversation in my head, I made myself forget abut Mark and concentrate on the one who was here right now, in front of me: Joanne. That method worked, and I started to enjoy myself again. For the moment.

After many hours (it was quite dark now) we'd gotten tired of sex, for the monemt. We dragged urselves into Joanne's tiny kitchen for some food. I had a bowl of cereal and a banana. She had leftover spaghetti and an apple. We both drank seltzer.

We finally decided it was time to go to sleep. We laid down again in the bed. She fell asleep immediately.

I couldn't sleep, however. Guilty thoughts of Mark were flashing through my mind again.I thought of his sweet face. Then it was crumpled, crying because of what I'd done to him. He was then trying to stop, not to cry. His look of misery was replaced by one of fury. His face contorted in rage, he squinted at me thoughevil eyes. They were glowing red. He took a stickfrom the ground and started to hit me.

I woke up crying.

I tried to fall back asleep but every dream I had was similar. Mark was always the center. Finally I gave up on sleep and just watched Joanne. I felt my eyes drift closed, but in my mind I could still see her, slumbering peacefully. Soon, as it often happens in dreams, things began to change. She was no longer in her bed. She was in mine, back at the loft. Then, slowly but surely, she morphed into Mark. Then Mark woke up. He said to me, "Who is Joanne? Why were you sleeping with her? I thought you loved me, Maureen. What happened?"

In my dream I broke down crying. I started screaming, "But I do love you! I do! I didn't mean for it to happen this way! Really! Please, Mark! Don'tdo this to me!"

He looked at me. "Don't do this to you? To you? As if you're the hurt one? Don't play martyr, Maureen. You've done this enough."

I heard his voice change halfway through his last speech. Now it was deeper, sexier. I looked up into the piercing green eyes of Roger. He glared hungrily at me. He pressed me up against a wall. He ripped my shirt off and started caressing me.

"Let go! Stop it, now! I hate you! Stop! Mark! Help me! Please!!!!!" I screamed, still crying. But Mark, still in the bedroom, pretended not to hear me. He shut his eyes and rolled over, turning the other way. I was in Roger's power, and Mark was just lying there, letting his rape me.

But I had had enough of being raped. I screamed and thrashed and cried. No matter how much I begged him, Mark would not come save me. And that feeling was the worst in the world.

When I woke up in the morning, my pillow was stained with tears.


	5. Take Control

A/N: You know the deal. Still not mine.

Another really short chapter. Have fun!

It was waking up with the wet pillow that really did it for me. I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed to pull myself together, to take control. This had already gone too far.

I knew that this game couldn't go on any longer. I couldn't go on playing, using both of them, pulling them alongs like puppets on strings. It was against my morals. (I know a lot of people think I don't have any morals, but they're very wrong. I have morals. I have a very strong set of ethics, stronger than Roger's or Benny's or even Angel's or Collins's or Mark's.) It would tear me apart to do that to them. After all, they're human beings too.

I decided that the game must end. I had to make a choice. I couldn't keep this up forever, or much longer. I'd have to come to my senses and force myself to dothe impossible. I'd have to get rid of one.

I knew right away that I couldn't get rid of Mark. I had been with him too long. I knew him too well. I couldn't simply dump him for a woman. That would be way too cruel. We'd been together too long for that. I knew not to ruin a relationship for something like Joanne. I liked Joanne, but I loved Mark. I couldn't do this to him, to myself. If I did, I'd never forgive myself for the pain I'd cause him. I'd rather die.

Mark was my baby, my love. He was the person I lived for. Joanne was just this woman I met and happened to have sex with.

Then again, Joanne and I had a special connection. I felt something for her that had never happened with Mark. Maybe it wa because we shared a gender. I'm not sure. It could simply be that she and I, both being women, had had similar experiences in the past, and that brough tus close together. Whatever it was, there was something there, definitely. I couldn't put my finger on what, but I knew there was something.

No, no, no. I had to stop thinking this way. I didn't love Joanne, I loved Mark. Anyways, who knew if Joanne was going to stick around? How could I tell if our relationship was going to last? I knew Mark and I could survive. How? We'd been surviving for almost 3 years already. We could last. I had no idea about Joanne. Perhaps she was only a one-night stand? How would I feel then?

No, it was much better to break thing off with her before I was in way over my head. Save myself, and Mark, now while the water's not too deep. I never thought Joanne and I were meant to be. So I knew what I had to do.

"Hey, Jo?"

"Mmmm?"

"I can't do this. I can't hurt Mark like this. I've been with him too long. I just met you. I can't risk my relationship with him. I'm so sorry. You see, close to a year ago, for our second anniversary, I decided that I would never cheat on him again. And I-"

"Had that been a problem?" Joanne inquired, surveying me coolly.

"Well... only after a big fight or something, but... yeah. It had. So I vowed to stop it, before I ruined our relationship. And I did. I never cheated again, or even flirted, and I kept it up for almost a year. Then I met you. You're like no one I've ever met, Joanne. I feel something for you I've never felt for anyone else. Some conection or something. I feel I've had something with you I've never had with Mark-"

"Sex?"

"No, Jo, I've had sex with Mark. I mean, like a feeling. I felt something I'd never felt when I was with Mark, ever before-"

"An orgasm?"

"NO! Not funny. I mean, I felt a connection with you instantly. Maybe it's just because we're both women. I don't know. But there's something here. But I can't find out. I can't leave it to be worked with. I've got to put a stop to this, so I can save my relationship with my boyfriend. There's something that I feel for you, only you and not Mark. Just remember that, if you ever need me, that there are people who love you. A lot. But I'm just not letting it be me."

"Well, okay. But you'd better get back to your Mark. Don't want to worry him. Or make him suspicious. If you love him, you'd better leave me."

"Well, you're probably right. I had better get going, Jo," I said, not wanting to get up, put my clothes back on, or leave the comfort and security of the bed.

"Don't call me that. Anyways, this is probably for the better. If we'd kept this up, I feel sure I would've made you choose between me and Mark at some point or another."

"I guess you're right. But before I go, can I just have one last kiss from you?" I asked shyly.

"Well, I guess one kiss is okay," she said, giving in. Before she finished talking I leaned over and presed my lips to hers, in one last passionate, truly heartfelt kiss. Without meaning to, we deepened the kiss. I saw sparks fly. We fell into passion and let thing heat up again.

Twenty minutes later, I stood up and pulled my leather pants on. "I can't believe we just did it again, right after I broke up with you!" I exclaimed, furious at myself for what I had done.

"It's all right. Just go on home to Mark now. It will be okay.I won't tell him. And I know you won't," she added.

"Of course not. It would break his heart." I threw on my shirt over my lacy black bra and looked at her. She started right back. We shared a glance, a longing, passionate, desperate gaze before I couldn't take any more. I got up and left the room. I headed out of her apartment, down the stairs, out the door, and across the street to the car without looking back. I felt as if I never would.

On the way home, my mind was in turmoil. For the fifteen minutes it took to drive back to the loft, I thought non-stop about Joanne. I remembered her hair, skin, and eyes, I remembered her apartment, I remembered her bed with the creamy white sheets. I thouht about my decision. Had I made the right choice in giving up Joanne over Mark? Did I even love Mark? Ah, but did I love Joanne?

I pondered over these questions and more until I got home. Even after I arrived at the top floor of the run-down building. I kept thinking until I got into my bedroom. There, waiting for me, was the sleeping Mark in our bed. I took a glance at the familiar surroundings, the familiar mess of the room. I remembered how spotless Joanne's apartment and bedroom floor was. Then I forced muself not to think about her. I shed my clothes and threw them on the floor, like I always did. I climbed into the bed with Mark.

As I took my place as his side, I looked into his sweet, dreaming face. That was all it took. One look into his angelic face, though asleep, told me I had made the right choice after all. I sighed dreamily and fell into a calm, soothing, dreamless sleep.


	6. A Walk In The Park

Disclaimer: See other disclaimers. Not re-writing these over and over again.

Thank you so much, evilemmylou, for helping on this one.

There I was. Back at home. Calm and relaxed. Back to normal.

For the moment.

In the morning, Mark was a little suspicious about me coming home before he woke up, as I knew he would be, but I smoothed that over in my usual way, getting up a little early to make him breakfast and shower him with kisses. He' s such a hopeless romantic type, it works every time.

"I know I came home a little early, baby. Joanne was feeling better, and anyway, I missed you," I finished. I knew he'd believe that. "I love you..."

"And I love you. Of course you missed me! You're a woman with a hot boyfriend!" he giggled. Now that made me laugh.

"Only the cutest! And alongside the adorable boyfriend, stands his absolutely charming-"

"Irritating-" he added, probably because he was sick of me talking about myself.

"Talented-" I said over him.

"Infuriating-"

"Cute-" I added, for the hell of it.

"Snobby, bitchy-" Hey, not all the time.

"Marvelous, attractive-"

"Messy, ungraceful, self-absorbed-" Now, that one hurt.

"Beautiful-" I tried to make up for it.

"Coquettish-" he had a point there.

"SEXY!" I squealed, throwing myself full-on into our stupid argument.

"All right, sexy..." he admitted.

"The sexiest..." I prompted.

"Okay, the sexiest, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world!" he finished.

"Thank you." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I am sexy, aren't I?"

"Of course you are, sweetie." There now, everything was all better.

"Well, then..." I winked flirtatiously.

"Are you implying something?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes!"

"Shall we?" he asked in his silly little way that I loved. I took his arm.

"Absolutely. After you, dearest," I said in a regal British accent, or my crappy imitation of one.

"No, no, ladies first," he insisted, copying my accent exactly, in the same high, fluty voice I used. I played along, rolling over onto the bed.

"My dear, breakfast is getting cold," I called from the bathroom an hour and a half later, after my shower.

"Screw breakfast. It was cold an hour ago, and Maureen darling, you're not the most fabulous cook in the world," came his sarcastic reply from the bedroom.

"Oh, thanks. Well, what shall we eat?"

"I dunno. I don't need to eat right now," he said, "so screw breakfast. I am full already, since I have already screwed you..." he said playfully.

"Don't give me that, Marky," I said mock-seriously, wagging my finger at him.

"Fine. I'm thinking of heading to the park today..."

"Why? To get away from me?" I asked, pretending to be offended.

"Of course not. I was thinking of filming today. Want to come?"

"Sure, I got nothing better to do," I responded truthfully. And so we set off to Central Park.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" yelled a high, fluty voice.

"What? Me?" I asked, confused.

"Not you, honey," said the same voice. "That fucker over there." I turned around. There stood a girl in some of the cutest clothes in the city, aside from mine. She was wearing a little dress that looked like it was made from plastic, over a little black dress (so nothing showed through), white fishnets, and these totally hot pink stilettos. She had large sunglasses perched in her black hair.

"Hey, cute outfit. Where'd you get the dress?" I couldn't help asking.

"This place down Lafayette St., near St. Mark's Place. It's called Screaming Mimi's. It has all this retro funky stuff. I got everything but the plastic dress there. That," she continued, indicating the plastic thing, "I made myself."

"That's awesome. Maybe I should check out that place sometimes. You into clothes designing much?"

"Not really. I just like to have fun."

"Me too. I'm going to classes, though. To be a fashion designer," I said shyly.

"Cool. Whatever floats your boat. Hey, what's your name?" she asked.

"Maureen. Johnson. And this is Mark Cohen."

"Nice. I'm Angel. Angel Dumott Schunard."

"Cool name." I liked this girl. "Hey, want to grab a coffee sometime? We can just chat for a while. I'd love to now, but we're going to Central Park to film a little," I explained.

"Sure. Here's my number," she said, writing something down on a small slip of paper. "Give me a ring sometime, and we can work something out. Invite your boyfriend along, too. Maybe I'll bring a friend, too."

"Sounds great!" I enthused, taking the paper from her and putting it in my pocket. "Have a great day, Angel!" Mark and I resumed our journey, and Angel headed in the opposite direction. "Well, she seems nice," I remarked to Marky.

"Very. He's got great taste in clothes."

"She, Mark. That was a girl." I wondered how he missed that.

"Um, Maureen. You're not as familiar with the City as I am. Let me tell you, so Angel doesn't have to. Angel's a guy. A gay guy. He's a drag queen."

"Oh," I said, feeling stupid. "Well, he's nice anyway."

"Yeah," Mark agreed. We spent the rest of the trip in silence.


	7. Telephone Madness

This chapter was written in a burst of creativity and boredom. Enjoy!

That night, I called Angel's number. A man's voice answered.

"Hello, who's this?"

"Hi! This is Maureen Johnson. Is Angel there?" I asked tentatively.

"Sure, hon. Here she is. Angel!" he yelled to the background.

A few seconds later, I heard the familiar voice. "Hey, Maureen. What are you up to?"

"Oh, not much. Whereabouts do you live, anyway?"

"I currently live in Midtown West,but it's too pricey. And plus, people here don't like me. I'm looking for a place in the East Village."

"Hey, that's where I live. On Avenue A. Look around the Alphabet City for apartments. You'll get better deals. Plus, we'll be neighbors," I exclaimed.

"Cool. You have roommates?" she asked casually.

"Yeah, I have five. No," I corrected myself, "I lied. I keep forgetting that Benny moved out. I have four. There's Mark, and Mark's childhood friend Roger, and Roger's girlfriend April, and then there's Collins. He's a professor at NYU," I explained.

"And who's Benny?" she asked.

"Our landlord, and ex-roommate. He now lives with his girlfriend Mimi. I've only seen her once, briefly. He met her at a club, I think she's a stripper. God, she looks like fifteen!"

"Wow, that's young. And why did Benny live with you all?"

"Oh, he and Mark were roommates in college at Brown."

"I see. Hmmm... that's a lot of people."

"Well, Mark and I have one room, Roger and April have the other, and Collins has the couch. Benny used to sleep in a chair, or something. I don't know. Maybe he and Collins traded off. But he sure wasn't in our rooms!" I joked. Angel laughed. She had a nice laugh, like little bells.

"Anyway, what are you up to?" I asked.

"Nothing much, I'm kind of bored. I was actually hoping you'd call. How's Mark? He looked sort of tired today."

"Well, he probably had a late night last night or something... at work," I lied. I wasn't sure how she' d respond to the truth, that we'd gotten busy that morning.

"Hmmm..." Angel murmured suspiciously. I could almost see her thinking, _Sure, honey. You keep thinking that. Maybe he's having an affair._ But, of course, I'd rather seem the innocent one, for once. I was enjoying myself.

"Are you seeing anyone?" I interrupted her thoughts.

"Right now," she said, with a lowered voice, "yes, but not for long. He's boring me, and he ain't too nice to me either. That's another reason I'm trying to move," she confided in hushed tones.

"I see, well, if he's giving you a real ton of trouble, you could always stay here. It's cramped quarters, but we're all nice people, except Roger, sometimes," I giggled, and so did Angel, "and we have a little space since Benny moved out."

"That's s kind of you, hon, but I think I'd rather get my own place. Thanks anyway."

"Well, if you are really desperate later, the offer still stands," I told her.

"Sure, hon. Thanks bunches. I gotta go now, ciao bella!" she said in her normal voice.

"'Kay, see you!" I agreed. With that, we hung up.

Around a week later, when I was at work, my cell rang.

"Hello, Maureen Johnson. To whom do I owe this pleasure of speaking?" I said in a bright, flowery voice.

"Hi. This is Joanne."

My mouth suddenly went dry. "Joanne?" I asked through parched lips.

"Yes. I was wondering... well, I was just thinking about you. Hell, honey, I think about you all the time. And I was wondering... if you're not doing anything tonight...?" she tried to ask me.

"I... I can't. Mark would-"

"Hon, I already talked to Mark. He says it's okay. It's you, me, and Sophie, our high school friend. We're all having a pizza party at my house. Want to come?" she asked devilishly, her old swing back in her voice.

Just as mischievously, I said, "I'd love to."

"So, is Sophie a lesbian too?" I asked with a mouthful of pizza.

"No. She's married. I'm single, and you... well, I didn't need to bring that up to Mark."

"Thanks, baby." I loved her right now. I hated to say it, but she was growing on me more and more. Besides, tonight was a rule-free night. There was nothing to say. Mark had totally allowed it. He never said we couldn't cuddle, kiss, or have sex. He just assumed we wouldn't. Of course, this demonstrates Rule #1 of Maureen: Never assume anything.

"Imagine, though, if she were..." Joanne said dreamily.

"Yeah! We could have a threesome!" I cheered. "Go hot lesbian sex!" Joanne laughed.

"So, I need a story to bring home to Marky. What does she look like?"

"Mmmmm, she's a hot blonde, with clear blue eyes."

"No! She's a brunette, with childish braids."

"I love immature women," she laughed pointedly at me.

"Hey!" I joked. "And what should she wear?"

"How about those sexy black leather pants, like yours?" she suggested.

"Maybe red. They're a bitch to get out of, though," I told her.

"I know. But Mark doesn't need to."

"He does," I replied, with a straight face. "Believe me, he knows."

"Okay... how about jeans?"

"Fine. And a green tank, with a little sweater."

"Honey, it's winter."

"Fine, a light blue down jacket."

"Good. And a cute little fleece sweatshirt."

"Yay! Fleece is so cuddly!"

"I'll give_ you _cuddly!" she said, mock-menacingly.

"Yes, please!" I said, and we fell onto the couch laughing.

The next morning, as I drove home, I was faced with the same dilemma again. Mark or Joanne? Joanne or Mark? Then... why couldn't I have both? I am not married to Mark or anything. He totally approves of my relationship with Joanne. No, he doesn't. He approves of your friendship with Joanne. If he knew what the two of you are really doing up there, he'd be gone in a flash. Yeah, but...

I couldn't win against my own common sense. I'd tried before.

But this time was different.

When I got home, I heard an answering machine message that drove all other thoughts from my mind. It was a female on the phone. For Mark.

"Hi, Mark. This is Cindy. How are you, hon? Kimmy and John are here too, but they're napping. I hope you can come see us soon. We miss you, Marky. Love, Cindy."

Dun dun dun! Is Mark cheating?!?!?!?!? MARKY?!?!?

No. It's only his sister, Cindy. But Maureen doesn't know that. Sshhhhh!

"We are sure hilarious hijinks will ensue!

(They DON'T.)"

quote from Broadway Abridged's Wicked. Ignore that.


	8. April

Yes, I KNOW I haven't updated in forever. I am sorry, my loyal fan following… (well, uh… about that…) Anyway. Here it is. I don't own RENT.

A phone call for Mark? From a GIRL?

I slammed the delete button with my fist.

This was SO not cool. I am Maureen, the flamboyant, flirtatious drama queen. Mark is the shy, loyal, level-headed boyfriend. He is the yin to my yang.

He is NOT allowed to do this to me! From that girl's message, it sounded like this had been going on for a while. What was her name? Christine? Cynthia? I didn't remember. And I didn't care.

I ran into my room, ready to cry. Instead, I slept until Mark came home.

6 pm. I woke up to the slam of a door. It was Mark.

"God dammit! Stupid weather can never stay nice here for more than an hour! What the fuck?"

"So, Marky," I spat venomously, entering stage right from the bedroom in my silky nightgown, "Where were you? What were you doing? Or rather, who?"

"What? I've been filming in the park. I left you a note," Mark explained.

"Sure you were. I just got a very interesting phone call," I remarked.

"Huh? From who?" asked Mark, obviously bewildered. Damn, he was a good actor.

"Some girl called for you. Cynthia or something. So there, Marky. It's out in the open, I know what you've been up to. Okay? I can handle it- I'll move out right away," I cried, getting way too emotional.

"Maureen, wait, there's something you don't-" Mark started, but I was too quick for him.

"I don't want to hear it. I'll move out, your REAL girlfriend can have my place. For now, I'm going to bed!" I stormed out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind me as hard as I could.

I woke up at around midnight. I was hungry. Knowing Mark and Collins were in the living room, I slipped silently past them into the kitchen. Grabbing a box of cereal, I sat down on the floor. I opened the fridge, and seeing no fat-free milk, I did without it. I ate a few handfuls of Cocoa Puffs right out of the box. I caught a glimpse of myself in the oven's reflection. Hideous! My mascara was dripping down my face and my lipstick was smudged. I ran into the bathroom to clean myself up. Flicking on the switch, I turned to the sink. Above it, on the mirror, was a note, in smudged magenta lipstick.

April's color.

It was very shaky handwriting, so I could barely read it. Definitely April's, though. A chill went through me as I read the words:

_Roger-_

_We've got AIDS._

And nothing more.

I turned around to the bathtub and fainted.

There, lying in a pool of blood, was April.

When I recovered my senses, it was 5 am. No one was awake yet, but Collins would get up soon. I had to think fast. I had to do SOMETHING. My mind raced, but I couldn't think of anything. So I did the only thing I could think of. I went into the living room.

"Collins?" I whispered urgently. "Collins. Wake up."

"Mrphrphrph," Collins mumbled sleepily. I slapped him lightly on the cheeks.

"Come on, Collins. This is important." Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"What, Maureen? It's really early, you know that?"

"Yeah," I told him, "but this… well… I…"

"WHAT?" snapped Collins groggily.

"Shh! You'd better come see for yourself." I helped him stand up, and led him into the bathroom.

"Oh… my…" Collins was at a loss for words.

Shit.

We decided to wait until morning to tell the others. I wanted to wake them up right away, but that would be cruel to their sleeping habits. So, at 8 am sharp-

"Roger!" I hissed. "Get up!"

Roger rolled over.

"NOW. You need to see this, believe me."

"Why should I believe you?" he muttered. "You come in my room in the wee hours of the morning, shouting for me to wake up. EXACTLY how I want to start my day."

"Oh, dear." I called for reinforcements. Collins walked through the door into Roger's room. "Collins, tell him what happened. Make him get up, and show him. I'll deal with Mark." I left the room to wake Mark up.

"Mark."

"Not again. I just woke up. I told you, I can-"

"No, not about that. Get up, now," I commanded in my bitch voice. Mark did as he was told, slowly. In the meantime, I saw Collins lead Roger out of his room and into the bathroom.

Three seconds later, I heard a long-winded bloody murder scream.

Mark rushed to the bathroom. I followed, slowly.

Roger rushed out of the bathroom, crying, and locked himself in his room.

Collins broke the silence. "You know, I really hate to make matters worse, but- I got a job offer. And I'm taking it."

"That's great, Collins," I said dully, depressed for April.

"No, it's not. Not now. I was going to tell you yesterday, but… well, you know. But, um, it's teaching. At MIT. I'm leaving for Massachusetts next week."

Before I knew it, Collins had left. Benny moved back in for about two weeks. He had apparently broken up with the fifteen-year-old. Maybe she'd gone back to middle school- or whatever. Soon he left, too; he'd bought a new house. It was just Mark and me who were left. Well, and Roger. But he didn't count; he was constantly holed up in his room. Mark was his little maid; he paid more attention to Roger than he did to me! He would bring Roger food (which he wouldn't eat), talk to him (he wouldn't talk), and give him his AZT (an AIDS drug, which he wouldn't take). He was ignoring me completely. I began to turn more and more to Joanne, and found myself struggling not to be totally in love with her. After a while, I began to resent coming home. Sure, Mark had finally explained to me that Cindy was his sister, but the fact that he may as well have been cheating on me with Roger didn't soothe my nerves. I looked to Joanne for comfort, and pulled away from Mark (towards Joanne) just as much as he pulled away from me (towards Roger). We began the slow, painful process of growing apart.

I had a lot of loose ends to tie up, now I have basically finished the prequel. By Chapter 12, we will be in RENT. By around Chapter 30-40, if my attention span allows me to write that much, we will be at the end of RENT.

Yay! Well, no, but at least now I know where we're headed.


End file.
